


Counting breaths

by Vansen58



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vansen58/pseuds/Vansen58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam's an avid swimmer. Dean's a better one. Sam swims because he loves to. Dean swims because he has to." Pre-series. Sam is 16, Dean is 20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting breaths

New town. New school. New house. New monster, new job.

But?

California.

Sam won't even complain… much.

Apparently it's their fifth time living in the state. Sam only remembers the last two, all less than two weeks long. The others happened when he was too little and all he has are repeatedly told "Sammy's first time at the beach" stories. ("I wish I had a camera, dude, you looked like you were stepping on horse shit.".)

He's 16 years-old and he's been in 49 states at least twice each. All except Hawaii. It's Dean's old joke, every time they're hunting something in the snow in one of the northern states in winter. ("So, no monsters in Hawaii, huh?")

They've been in Alaska two times, back when Dad wasn't wanted in half the states they visited and could still own a passport to drive across Canada. First time, they saw the Northern Lights – one of the few things on Sam's very short list of "things-that-didn't-suck-while-hunting".

Second one, it was summer and they thought it would be safe to go camping, only to get buried under snow during a night when the sun didn't go down. Sam still remembers Dean's eyes being the only thing visible out from under his sleeping bag, buried underneath his coat's hoodie.

"So… no monsters in Hawaii, huh?"

Well… there are monsters in California at least.

Dean's eyes aren't visible now. They're closed. He's lying in the sand, a few feet from Sam's own sprawled form, the Impala safely parked behind them. Dean's shirtless and golden. He always burns brown in the sun, like Sam, like Dad. Sometimes Sam wonders if Mom was the same. If she and Dad ever went to the beach together. Maybe with Dean when he was little. He wonders if they had "Dean's first time at the beach" stories. He wonders if his brother also looked like he stepped on horse shit. He wonders if Dad remembers Dean's baby stories the way Dean remembers Sam's.

The sun is warm on his face. His beer is cold on his hand and warm on his insides. Sam feels like floating, like leaving, like staying. He wants to stay in California. "What else is new?", his father says gruffly in his mind. "You always want to stay wherever we are, Sammy", his brother mumbles softly.

"You gonna stick around?", Sam's mouth asks before his brain realizes what it's doing.

Dean takes his sweet time answering and Sam thinks he's considering what the hell Sam's talking about. Then he thinks his brother is sleeping. Then his brother answers. Or mumbles. Dean's always mumbling.

"Yeah."

"'M going for a swim", Sam says in the tone he perfected to sound like he's informing while giving enough of an impression to his brother that he's asking.

Dean makes a "go on" move with his right hand. Never opens his eyes. Sam goes on.

He strips off his shirt and jeans and walks to the waves in his boxers. The water is warm and inviting and Sam plunges.

Sam's an avid swimmer. ("Those long limbs had to be good for something besides not fitting in the car.") Dean's a better one. But Sam swims because he loves to. Dean swims because he has to. Because Dad told him it was an important skill to keep his little brother safe. All he had to do. Swimming was the only sport Dean ever practiced in the hundreds of schools he attended. Joined teams he never told his dad about, won medals left behind in lockers he never cared to empty. His only intention to perfect the one skill school had to offer him that could actually help his life-long obsession of being the father their Dad never was.

Dean doesn't even like water.

Sam loves it.

Swimming feels like freedom. His head underwater feels like a different life. His mind has nothing to think about except "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, breathe." No hunting. No disappointed dads. No hovering brothers making the absence of real things hurt worse. Maybe if he didn't know what true love felt like, he wouldn't wish to have more than one real family member to spare.

Sam swims. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, breathe. He swims past the waves and keeps going. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, breathe. It occurs to him that maybe he shouldn't be swimming this hard, this far, after five (six?) beers. He swims without saving his strength for the swim back.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Stop. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The shore seems miles away but he finds his brother in a heartbeat, and that has nothing to do with the car parked behind him. Sam always knows where his brother is. Sam always knows how his brother is.

Dean is sitting. Watching the ocean. It seems impossible that he could see Sam this far off.

Sam knows better.

Dean is sitting and watching. Sam is floating and waiting.

Dean could holler for him to get back. Dean could come and get him.

Dean just sits. Just waits.

Sam swims back.

When he walks out of the waves, the sun is setting. Dean is still sitting. Sam walks by, sits by his side. Grabs the cooler, takes another beer.

Dean doesn't say a word. Sam doesn't say a word

Night falls. They stay up, watching the stars.

Dean doesn't say a word.

Sam feels like drowning.


End file.
